


All For Me

by KrokoRobin



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Big Bro Stan AU, Blood and Injury, Ford is a tsundere, M/M, Reckless Driving, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrokoRobin/pseuds/KrokoRobin
Summary: Every hair on the back of Stan’s neck stood up as Ford pressed a kiss to his knuckles. One, then two. Then three. And with every single one, his lips made the softest noise.





	All For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ford got de-aged and lost most of his memory (including his breakup with Stan) when they met again in Gravity Falls. Now Stan's got himself a little brother whom he's VERY possessi- ...protective of.

The deal had gone off without a hitch.

Stan kept his gaze on the men leaving the apartment room while bagging the wads of notes.

The tension slowly drained out of his shoulders and jaw. A quick wave of relief washed over him. They’d done it.

He did a quick brass check on his Glock - gotta do that  _before_ entering the trenches next time, genius - and shoved it into the back of his waistband. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He peeked through the ajar door into the kitchen, where he had told Ford to wait. He spotted the owner of the apartment - a burly guy who was hiding his receding hairline through baldness. Apparently, he had been attentively watching the negotiations through the very same door crack, but now his attention was drawn to something else. Stan leaned forward. It was Ford, leaning against the kitchen counter with folded arms, defenses up and his eyes fixed on the ground.

The bald guy had his voice lowered, but Stan could still hear it.

“I got another business proposal if you’re interested, kid”, he murmured, putting one veiny hand on Ford’s shoulder, close enough for his thumb to touch Ford’s neck.

Ford recoiled, but the room was narrow and he just pressed himself further against the counter right behind him, making the ashtray and dirty dishes on it clatter.

The man followed him, his other hand on Ford’s hips. “C’mon, don’t act coy now.” He chuckled. “Why else would the big guy keep a fucking teen around.”

Ford reached backwards to steady himself against the kitchen counter.

“Can’t say that I blame him. You got some pretty dick sucking lips right the-” The man interrupted himself as Stan opened the door to the kitchen to lean against the frame, an interested and open smile on his face.

“Hey baldie, what’s going on?”, Stan said in a jovial tone.

The guy was smarter than he looked, as he wasn’t fooled by Stan’s seeming cheerfulness for one second. He let go of Ford and raised his hands. “Look, man. I wasn’t… He’s all yours, okay?”

“No, no, I’m curious!”, Stan insisted, letting the fingers of one hand brush over the knuckles of the other. “Chatting up my little brother there, huh? You think he’s hot?”

Realization dawned on the man’s face almost as quickly as Stan sunk a fist into it. The punch was thrown with so much force, it made the man stumble backwards and into one of the kitchen chairs. Disoriented by the sudden impact, he almost caught himself on the backrest, but Stan was already above him, hitting him with a dull thud that sent him to the ground.

Stan wanted to grab him by his shirt, but the man had come back to his senses. With a clever shove of his forearm, he freed himself of Stan’s grip and rammed his forehead into Stan’s.

Now it was Stan’s turn to see stars. His opponent used the opportunity to seize an empty bottle that had fallen off the kitchen table next to him and smashed it against the side of Stan’s head.

Stan wasn’t exactly easily toppled, but that was enough to make his vision go white for a moment. He squinched his eyes shut and shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the ringing in his ears, as the boot of the bald man connected with his side.

“Should’ve just let me have him”, he heard the man above him snarl as he pushed Stan against the floor tiles. “But hey, I’m not complaining. Now I get to fuck you both!”

There was a hand on Stan’s belt, and the jingling of the buckle was what made Stan’s eyes snap open. With a furious grunt, he grabbed the guy’s hand and twisted it, drawing a yell from the other. Stan rammed an elbow against his temple, jumped back onto his feet and threw his opponent into the kitchen table. Two of the table’s legs snapped under the weight.

Just before Stan descended on the other man like a beast, he caught a glimpse of Ford, still pressed against the kitchen counter, frozen, scared, or surprised, unsure what to do.

It made Stan’s fists pummel into the other man’s face with even more force, over and over, until the kitchen was filled with nothing but wet smacks and pained screams.

Stan was back in the streets, back on the concrete, back on the boards of the boxing gym locker room, and the rush was almost too much for him. He felt warm liquid against his knuckles, saw red splotches splatter on the white tiles. Stan’s stomach was boiling. His head was filled with nothing but scorching emptiness.

The gun in his waistband was completely forgotten. He wanted to feel the cracking of bones against his fists. He wanted to hear the screams of the man that echoed in the cold room turn into dull groans. He wanted to feel the relentless grip of the man’s hand weaken on him, wanted to watch his attempts to fight back fade, wanted to watch him realize his utter helplessness. Stan was straddling his opponent and could feel the entire body beneath him straining and tensing in fear.

The guy was indeed smarter than he looked. He knew what was coming next.

“Stanley.” Ford’s voice was strangely soft.

Reluctantly, Stan halted. He looked down on the mess of swollen flesh and punched out teeth that was the other man’s face, listened to the labored breathing through blood and snot.

What a sight.

“You’re getting us into serious trouble”, Ford said, tersely.

Stan took a deep breath through his mouth. His own face felt numb and foreign.

Ford was right.

“Looks like you got lucky, buddy”, Stan said and spat out. “One last question though.” He leaned down until he could smell the iron scent of blood. “Do you remember what my face looks like?”

It took a moment for the question to sink in, but eventually the guy shook his head with an agonized moan.

“And he’s got a brain in his noggin too!” Stan exclaimed in mock delight. He felt Ford’s hands on him, helping him get up, but he brushed them away.

“Let’s just leave”, Ford insisted and got the duffel bag containing their loot from the next room. His expression was strangely closed off.

Stan followed him, hands pressed to his side and stifling a groan.

They got out of the apartment building, through the pouring rain and into the car parked not far off. Ford kept insisting that it was way too conspicuous for their operations (“It’s got your name written on the license plate, for fuck’s sake!”), but Stan wouldn’t hear of it.

Without waiting for his head to clear up, Stan started the engine, switched his high beams on to low, and pulled out of the driveway he had illegally parked in. They were on the highway in a matter of minutes. Out of the periphery of his still clouded vision, Stan could see Ford constantly throwing glances back over his shoulder, checking whether they were being followed.

Of course they weren’t.

Even if the shithead had been worth the trouble, the falling rain was so dense and heavy, it was as if it gave the blackness of the night form. The headlights of the El Diablo only illuminated the next fifteen feet ahead of them, and with Stan’s breakneck speed they were lucky to find the streets back to their motel relatively deserted on this Sunday night.

The entire drive through, Ford dug his fingers into the duffel bag on his lap.

Their temporary accommodations were a shabby dump in the middle of nowhere, just the way Stan liked it. They ran up to the door of their room, which was right underneath the flickering neon sign, the only indicator for passing travelers that this place was not completely abandoned.

Stan fumbled with the keys, but his head was swimming and he could barely stand. He felt something wet against his temple and he hoped it was just rain water trickling down his brow. With a barely audible, but clearly impatient sigh, Ford snatched the key out of his hand and shoved it into the lock.

“Sit down on the bed”, Ford all but commanded as he entered the dingy room and helped Stan out of his drenched jacket.

Stan couldn’t find it in himself to protest. So he did as he was told, but only after he swapped his gun with a half empty bottle of vodka from his nightstand. He was smarter than to take a swig standing up though. He let himself drop onto the queen size bed they were sharing before lifting the bottle.

There was a thick haze in his head, and the entire room seemed to be turning around him ever so slightly. The sounds of Ford busying himself in the bathroom reached his ears, and there was something comforting about it. Right. He wasn’t alone. Ford was here.

He wanted to take another gulp from the bottle, right as Ford strode over to him and swooped it out of his hand.

“Hey…!”, Stan groused. He looked up to see a still very admonishing Ford standing in front of him.

“Oh, quit your yammering”, Ford said and knelt down on the stained carpet between Stan’s legs. “You’ve had more than enough.” He produced a bit of gauze and soaked it in vodka. “Get rid of your shirt, too.”

Clumsily, Stan pulled his tank top over his head. It stuck to his skin in numerous places. A pained groan escaped Stan as he chucked the tank top into a far corner of the room. “There, happy?”

“No”, Ford replied. Without further ado, he proceeded to examine and take care of Stan’s wounds, starting with the bruise forming on the side of his ribcage. Every touch of Ford’s prodding fingers caused a dull ache to flare up, but Stan didn’t make a sound. He snuck the bottle back into his hands and gave it another two or three gulps.

He felt Ford’s fingers seize his chin, with much more force than would have been necessary. Time to have a look at his face. Resigned to his fate, Stan put the bottle aside and let Ford clean the blood off his nose and beard.

“I think I got a light concussion”, Stan said.

“You think.” Ford raised one eyebrow while keeping his gaze fixed to Stan’s split lip. It burned like hell when Ford dabbed the gauze against it, but Stan only gritted his teeth.

Stan couldn’t take Ford’s pursed lips anymore. “So, what’s your problem, kid?”

It took a moment for Ford to answer, in which he dropped the now completely filthy piece of gauze to pick up another and drench it in vodka. “This was unnecessary.”

Stan snorted. “I won’t let anyone fucking hit on you, all the more if we’re talking about a fucking sleazeball like…!”

“Killing that guy could’ve put the feds on our trail. And honestly”, Ford interrupted him, voice loud and sharp, “you don’t have to defend my maidenhood!”

Stan winced, not sure whether due to Ford’s words or because the kid had just gotten to what was probably a pretty nasty laceration on his temple.

An uncomfortable silence spread through the room.

A cold, heavy lump sat in Stan’s stomach, and it grew with every passing second.

Crap.

He had taken it too far. Ford was actually pissed this time. His neck muscles were strained from tension throughout the last couple of days, and he could feel them aching as his shoulders raised themselves ever so slightly and his teeth clenched together, his jaw taut.

Ford lifted Stan’s arm, scanned it for wounds until he got to the hands. Suddenly oddly gentle, Ford took Stan’s hand and let his thumb brush over the swollen fingers of his brother. Stan’s knuckles were bloodied and rough, all the way up to the back of his hands. But Ford made no efforts of cleaning them. Instead, he seemed to be mesmerized.

Every hair on the back of Stan’s neck stood up as Ford pressed a kiss to his knuckles. One, then two. Then three. And with every single one, his lips made the softest noise.

A rush, a tingling feeling of warmth and excitement raced through Stan’s nerves, up his arms, down his stomach and right to his crotch.

Ford was still kneeling in front of him, diligently kissing his knuckles, and all Stan could do was sit and stare at the display.

That was, until Ford’s tongue darted out between his lips and he started licking the blood off of Stan’s skin.

“OKAY!” Stan pulled his wrist out of Ford’s grasp, “too weird.”

The glare Ford shot him was almost funny. He grabbed Stan’s hand with sudden force and yanked it back.

“Bossy today, aren’t we”, Stan said, and he knew if he hadn’t been sitting his legs would have given in right then and there as Ford pushed his lips with such force against his bruised skin it made him suck in air between his teeth.

With fascinating intent, Ford tongued against Stan’s knuckles, licking over cuts and blood, completely lost in the scent and the taste and the feeling. Small moans escaped him, making Stan suck in his lower lip and bite down so hard it almost hurt more than Ford’s administrations.

Ford seized Stan’s other hand with a similar vice grip and shoved it between his legs.

Stan gave a small snort.

“Since when’s  _that_  been there…?”, Stan asked, half surprised, half amused.

Immediately, Ford’s entire detachment faltered and made way for a blush, an averted gaze and a short stammer that quickly trailed off. Like a teenage boy that had just been caught reading lewd magazines.

That’s when it clicked.

Stan felt the slightest crooked grin pull at the corners of his mouth, and the way Ford peeked up at him, it was visible through the beard, too.

“So that’s how it is”, Stan murmured, his voice deep and gruff.

It made Ford even more flustered. With sudden hurry, he scrambled to his feet and climbed into Stan’s lap, taking his brother’s face firmly into his hands and kissing him furiously.

“This really wasn’t… very smart of you”, Ford breathed between kisses.

“Mhm, kid.” Stan seized Ford’s ass, pulling a drawn out moan from him. “Whatever you say.”


End file.
